Rise and Fall
by StayTheSame
Summary: "From ashes you shall rise, from ashes you shall fall," so begins the ancient prophecy that tells of how life begins and ends in a world that has only known flames rather than embers. Molly Hooper is one of the Guardians. This is her story.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

_"From ashes you shall rise, from ashes you shall fall,"_ so begins the ancient prophecy that tells of how life begins and ends in a world that has only known flames rather than embers.  
For as long as anyone can remember, life has risen from the ashes literally, as when a person ides, their body is engulfed in flames and in the smoky aftermath, a wailing child emerges from the ashes. Its always the same person, mind really, but different body. Memories of past lives never fully return, but rather come back in flashes, triggered by specific scents and words. Only two are able to retain all of their memories, they are the Guardians, named in the prophecy, meant to find and protect their charges, brilliants minds who always meet untimely ends.

Molly Hooper is one of the Guardians. This is her story.


	2. Chapter 2: Meet Molly Hooper

**Chapter Summary: Meet Molly Hooper, who, at twenty eight years, seven months, and five days, is a Guardian and has yet to meet her Charge, making her a complete and utter failure.**  
**Until one day, nearing the end of an uneventful day at the morgue, she meets Sherlock Holmes.**

Molly Hooper was having a bad day. Not only did she reek of cat urine (from her slightly-overweight cat Toby), she was behind on at least three autopsies, and buried under five stacks of paper work. To top it all off, she, at twenty eight years, seven months, and five days, had not yet found her Charge, and as a Guardian, she was considered a complete and utter failure.

Molly glared at the tell tale sign her of her incompetency, a gray infinity sign that had graced her left wrist ever since she had emerged from the ashes of her previous form. She mentally willed it to go away, or at least turn into a white color, which meant the approach of her Charge. Molly traced the infinity sign with her fingertips. She could remember her father, who had done the exact same thing. He had held her in his arms, and told her how she was different, how she was special.

_It was a horrible day for eight year-old Molly, who, after school, was bombarded with the flashes of cameras and the shouting of reporters, absolutely rabid with the news that one of the Guardians had been discovered. They had all but trampled the girl, nearly suffocating her with their proximity and microphones, terrifying Molly and leading her to burst into tears. It was then that she was saved by a lion of her father, who barreled his way to his daughter and roared about lawsuits and restraining orders if anyone dared to bother his little Molly again. The reporters dispersed, grumbling about how the people had the right to know who was the newest Guardian._

_On the walk home, her father took Molly to an ice cream parlor near the school, bought her a strawberry cone, and sat her down on a bench._

_They ate in companionable silence until Molly, ever so curious, pipped up._

_"Daddy, why were those people bothering me?"_

_He sighed, he had hoped to not have this talk with his daughter yet. However, he put on a smile and took her left wrist._

_"Do you see this gray sideways eight? It means you're a Guardian. Daddy doesn't know much about them you see, since it's only for you to know when you're older, but it means you need to protect a certain person."_

_Molly's eyebrows came together, "How will I know who I need to look after?" she questioned._

_"The sideways eight, it's called an infinity sign, you see, and it changes colors. It starts out gray, just like now, when you haven't meet your Charge, the person you're supposed to protect. When you finally do meet them, it turns into white and whenever they're in danger, it turns red. Last, when it turns black, it means you're done protecting them."_

_"Daddy, is that why the kids at school call me a freak? Is it because I'm different?"_

_Her father had saddly smiled at this point and took her into his arms. "No, Molly, it means you're special."_

All of a sudden, there was a loud bang as the door was slammed open. A sharp sensation coursed through Molly, who ignored the pain and jumped up from her chair to defend her office from the unknown intruder. A man swept in, with his long, black coat billowing behind him. He turned to the closet, taking out an oxygen suit and pulling it on over his long limbs. She bracingly stood in front the airlock chamber, which lead to the morgue itself.

"Who are you?" Molly had meant for that to come out as a demand but it came out more like a frightened squeak.

The man looked down his high cheekbones and rolled his eyes. "I need to see Jeffrey Thompson's body. A killer needs to be caught."

He zipped up the suit, securing the oxygen cylinder to his mouthpiece.

"You're not a policeman, are you? I'm sorry but I can't let you in if you don't have the necessary clearance to-"

Molly was cut off by another set of footsteps and in came Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade with an apologetic smile on his face. He met Molly's widened eyes and panted, "Don't worry, Molls, he's got clearance."

There was a pause as Molly processed the new information.

"Lives are at stake, Doctor Hooper, and if you don't open this door at once, someone will die!" The mysterious man's deep baritone rang out across the tiled floors of her office.

She hurriedly waived her access pass over the sensor and opened the chamber, allowing for the tall man to rush forth. She closed the door after him and heard the familiar hiss of the door sealing, taking away the remaining oxygen and opening the next door leading into the morgue. Molly peered through the observatory window, her curious eyes following the raven-haired man.

"Greg, who is he again?"

Greg chuckled, "Sherlock Holmes. He's a 'consulting detective' who's helped with a couple of murders that the Scotland Yard has had collecting dust in the back room for a couple of years. Brilliant mind really, bit of an arse. He's been allowed unrestricted access here for only a while, a couple of days, actually. Don't pay him too much mind though, he can be a bit mad at times."

He paused.

"You wouldn't mind if I just leave him here, would you? Sometimes he can take hours, just looking at the bodies and testing them. I promise he won't cause too much trouble, he wouldn't be a bother, really."

Molly gave out a small smile and replied, "Yes, I can babysit him for a bit, go get a coffee, you look like you could use it."

"Thanks, Molls. You're an absolute savior, you know that?"

With that, Greg shuffled away and closed the door shut with a small click. Molly sighed and turned back to her desk. Suddenly the mounds of paperwork seemed warm and inviting and with a rustle of papers, she was back to work.

It seemed hours later, (only two, when she checked) when Sherlock emerged from the morgue, haphazardly hanging up the oxygen suit in the closet. He stood in front of Molly and coughed.

"Thank you for the use of the morgue, Doctor Hooper. I look forward to working with you again." He turned on his heel and gracefully waltzed out of the door, leaving the tiny pathologist with her mouth agape. When she turned back to peer into the morgue, she let out a string of colorful curse words. The damn bugger hadn't even bothered to clean up his mess.

She turned and put on an oxygen suit, one specially made for her tiny frame, and trudged towards the airlock chamber. With small steps, she cleaned up chaos that was her morgue, taking care to place her tools back into their places and wheeled the body of Jeffrey Thompson back in to the wall.

It wasn't unit after she had finished and hung up her oxygen suit that she noticed on her left wrist, the gray infinity sign had morphed into a blindingly white color. This was it. Molly Hooper had found her Charge.

For the second time this day, she cursed.


	3. Chapter 3: The Oracle and The Archives

Molly Hooper strolled through the streets of London, passing by cafés and specialty bookstores. The chill of the night air sank deep into her bones, despite the thick jumper and brown overcoat she had worn that day.

"It's going to snow soon, I can feel it," she said to no one in particular.

After ten minutes, she ended up at 221A Baker Street and knocked on the dark blue door.

A motherly old woman opened the door, blasting Molly with the scent of freshly baked bread.

"Hello, dearie! Haven't seen you for quite awhile! Come in, come in! Let's get you out of this nasty weather."

Mrs. Hudson ushered her into the flat, turned around and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Molly smiled, happy to see Mrs. Hudson (the closest Molly had for a mother figure) and returned the warm hug.

"Come into the kitchen, dear. I've just finished baking some bread and I've got fresh butter from the grocer down the street to go with it!"

Molly was walked quietly into the kitchen and sat down on one of the countertop chairs. She surveyed the room around her and noted that not much has changed since she last visited ten years ago. There is, however, one noticeable difference in the home. There is no longer any sign of Mr. Hudson. Molly grimaced, thinking of the tall, overweight man who tended to interrupt past conversations with his drunken rampages.

Mrs. Hudson was bustling about in her kitchen, fetching plates, a butter knife, and two glasses of milk, one of which she set into front of Molly. She hummed quietly to herself, buttering slices of bread and slowly piling slice after slice of bread onto Molly's plate.

"What ever happened to Mr. Hudson?" She cautiously asked.

"A few years back, he got himself sentenced to death in Florida. A fantastic fellow helped me out with that."

"So he stopped your husband from getting executed?"

"Oh, goodness no. He ensured it."

There was silence, and then, "I'm glad to hear it."

"The fellow needed a place to live, so as a favor, I decided to rent 221B, the flat upstairs, out to him. He's just moved in about a week or two ago. Keeps the strangest hours, up all night with all the violin playing of his, he's brilliant but barking mad."

Molly politely nodded, taking small sips of her milk.

"Enough about my life, what brings you here, Little Miss Guardian?"

Molly coughed and said, "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to take a look into the Archives. I need more research about my Charge, it seems like I've found him."

She pulled up the sleeve of her jumper and proudly showed Mrs. Hudson the white infinity sign.

"I met him at work today, but I just want to make sure it's actually him and not some mistake."

Mrs. Hudson clucked her tongue and went to the pantry door, retrieving a set of keys.

"Go on dear, take your time. Last door to your right, same as always. Make sure to lock up when you're done though."

With that, Mrs. Hudson left Molly on her own to navigate the halls and reach the white door that led to the Archives.

She quickly inserted the key, turned it, and pushed the door open. The familiar scent of dusty, old books enveloped Molly, making her feel safe and at home. She switched on the yellow lights and moved quietly among the shelves, looking for the "B" section. She paused again, her eyes flitting among the tomes of Guardians past. Finally she reached out and retrieved her prize, "_A Beginner's Guide to Being A Guardian_," penned by Molly herself in one of her past lives.

She flipped through the cover open and went straight to the introduction.

_Since the dawn of ages, humans have risen from the ashes. Same soul, but different bodies. They aren't able to revive all of the memories from their past lives, only bits and pieces. But there's always an exception to a rule, isn't there? _

_Chances are, if you're reading this, you're the exception. You're a Guardian, like me. Actually, you were me. You get memories the same way others do, but you're different from the rest. You get back all of your memories because unlike the rest of the world, you need them. You were put here on this Earth to protect your Charges. _

_From what I've figured out, there are two Charges, and they are the whole answer to why life begins from our ashes. They just don't know it yet. In fact, as far as I can tell, they never do. They always die before they unlock their full potential. And that's where you come in. You're to make sure they live a long, full life so we can finally have our questions answered. _

_There's a problem. Only one Charge can survive, which is why there's a struggle for life and death, a war between you and the other Guardian. _

_But enough about that, we can get to that bit later. You're probably here to see if you've actually found your Charge. Congratulations! It's never a fluke. You're stuck with him/her (whatever gender the cycle has put them in). But let's get into your newly white infinity sign. Here's the breakdown:_

_Gray: You just haven't met your Charge yet._

_White: We have a winner! You've met your Charge._

_Blue: Your Charge is at a crossroads, which means you need to nudge them in the right direction._

_Red: Immediate danger. Obviously._

_Purple: Apparently, its supposed to happen at some point, but its hasn't, so we've no idea what this signifies._

_Black: As far as we can tell, it means their dead. (Rumor has it that it actually means you don't need to protect them anymore, but it's never gotten past that point where they're still alive.)_

_That's about it, I suppose. For now, anyways. Weapons are in the storage closet, the spells, God forbid if you need it, will just come naturally to mind, and your memories should be returning regularly now._

_If you have any more questions, just look into the Archives, we've been really meticulous about this kind of thing. One more thing, the Prophecy. Even we don't know that. Only the Oracle (the Archives keeper) knows it, but they can only tell after a certain event. (Yes, all vague and mysterious, but then the Oracles love that kind of stuff.)_

Molly smiled, her previous cycle's personality was still so much like her own that it felt like she was meeting an old friend. She returned the book back into its place on the shelf and headed towards the door.

With one last glance around the Archives, she left. Molly took special care to quietly tiptoe (as to not wake Mrs. Hudson) out and used the spare key she had to look the door.

It was lightly snowing as she left the front steps of 221A and for once, the entire world was quiet, save for the faint sounds of a violin filling the air.


End file.
